


Cake Rolls Are A Special Kind of Hell

by asherfeckenstein



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Baking, M/M, because i said he does, emotionally exhausted lucio, lucio has prosthetic legs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-29
Updated: 2016-06-29
Packaged: 2018-07-19 01:42:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7339432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asherfeckenstein/pseuds/asherfeckenstein
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When McCree notices Lucio seems to be breaking down emotionally, he tries to do something nice for the guy. Key word: tries.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cake Rolls Are A Special Kind of Hell

**Author's Note:**

> Hiya, it's me. Asher. I'm also crossposting this fic from my tumblr as well! Check it out there at pharosatridorana.tumblr.com

“I’m so fucked,” McCree groused, and sighed heavily into his seventh failed baking attempt. He was about ready to give up on the damn thing, but he really wanted to finish it for Lucio, so he went out onto the balcony of their apartment to have a quick smoke instead. Things had been unexpectedly tough for Lucio in the past week; the hardships of battle on someone with so little combat experience compared to his comrades were beginning to take their toll. He was able to keep up an optimistic visage around his teammates, but when he was alone with McCree his idealism would fade just a bit. The previous night, Lucio had been unable to sleep, close to tears and plagued by the guilt of not being able to do more to help. Mercy had tried on multiple attempts an important lesson in acting as the supportive role in a team: not everyone can be saved. Lucio knew this, but had a hard time taking it to heart; he wanted to save everyone. He had gone out to help escort another payload today, which gave McCree the opportunity to prepare a surprise for his boyfriend. 

McCree had wanted to make Lucio a Brazilian treat, something that might remind him of home and comfort him. His research, conducted earlier that day with a tablet and a glass of whiskey, had lead him to a recipe for bolo de rolo, a rolled cake with many layers filled with goiabada, a guava paste. He had no baking experience and it sounded less than easy, but he wanted to do something special for his lover, and the amount of effort involved made it sound…extra special. Acquiring the necessary ingredients, and in huge quantities in case he failed a lot, from a market down the street, McCree got right to work making the batter. The measuring and mixing, well, that was the easy part. The hard part was rolling what seemed to him to be impossibly thin sheets of cake covered in guava paste on top of more layers of cake and guava paste and have it not fall apart. Was it even possible to spread cake batter thin enough to do this properly? Was bolo de rolo even real, or was this an elaborate joke that everyone else was in on except him? He ruminated on these things as he leaned on the balcony, burning through the last bit of his cigar, before giving a heavy sigh and returning to the kitchen. He gave his hands a good wash, determined to make something out of this disaster, even if it was just going to end up a poorly constructed trifle in a glass casserole dish. 

~~~

Lucio dragged himself up the stairs to his apartment, undoing his hair as he climbed. He was exhausted–physically, mentally, emotionally–and couldn’t be happier that he was headed home, where he hoped to cozy up next to McCree on the couch and fall asleep. He reached their door and jiggled the doorknob–unlocked, so he knew McCree was there–then entered, and closed and locked the door behind him.

“Hey, babe,” he said aloud, standing in the entryway. No vocal response, only odd clanging noises coming from the kitchen. He sighed, and trudged over to the bedroom first to remove his armor. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he removed each piece from his prosthetic legs, and tossed them into the corner. He was ready to flop back onto the mattress and never move again when he heard McCree’s voice echo down the hallway.

“Luce? C’mere a sec, I need ya.”

Lucio lifted himself to his feet once again and lumbered down the hall and into the kitchen. What he saw there, he wasn’t quite expecting. McCree leaning into the island countertop, with his hair tied up and pinned back thirty ways from Sunday, hands and clothes and face covered in…lord knows what; and next to him, a lumpy…spongy…log. It took a few moments before Lucio realized it was a bolo de rolo. It was misshapen and lacking in layers, but it was obvious that a lot of love had been put into its creation.

“Ah…Jesse..? You…needed something?” 

McCree tapped the counter lightly with his fist a few times and gestured towards his creation.

“Bolo de rolo,” he said, “the rolled up cake fulla guava paste. I made it, uh, fer ya. Because you’ve been upset lately. And I wanted to help.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Shit, McCree thought, maybe he don’t even like guava.

“You…actually made that yourself? Today?”

“Yep!” McCree kicked the cabinet containing the garbage can–and all of his failed attempts–shut. “And all in one go. Must be a natural at this bakin’ stuff.”

“Did not.”

Their eyes met, and Lucio smiled slyly, the first real smile McCree had seen from him all week. McCree actually felt his heart skip a beat or two. 

“We…may never know. Now, d’ya want some o’ this cake or not, poppet?”

Lucio walked over to McCree and wrapped his arms around his shoulders, propping himself up on his toes. McCree leaned down just enough so that their lips joined, a kiss that Lucio could taste the goiabada on, and his hands trailed down to Lucio’s waist. Slowly, hesitantly, they parted, but only a little; their faces remained close to one another. 

“Always a pleasure,” McCree murmured, “but are ya gonna have some of this guava thing?”

“Of course I will,” Lucio said with a chuckle, “Cut us both up a slice and come chill with me on the couch, alright?”

He let go of McCree and sauntered into the living room while McCree obtained a couple plates from the cupboard, cutting the slices a bit thicker than the intended serving suggestion to compensate for the lack of layers. He brought them out to where Lucio was waiting and presented him with a plate and a fork.

“Sorry it doesn’t look all that pretty. Guess it’s a lot like me, huh? Kinda ugly, but it’s still kinda soft and sweet?”

“Aw, don’t get down on yourself, babe, I think it’s beautiful.” With a free hand, Lucio patted McCree’s cheek. “Just like you. Soft, sweet, and gorgeous.”

McCree snorted. Sometimes he had a hard time believing compliments when they came from his lover. Lucio knew this, and scooted closer.

“Really, babe. Thank you. This is…just really nice, y’know?”

“Well, I’m glad you’re happy. Finally. You deserve it.”

The two were quiet for awhile, enjoying the fruits of McCree’s labor, until the older man broke the silence.

“Luce?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

Lucio grinned, his face beginning to flush, and he fully embraced McCree; hands gripping tightly to his hair, legs tangled, noses pressed so close together it started to hurt. They sat there, just breathing each other in, before Lucio replied.

“I love you, too.”


End file.
